


Mr and Mrs Psychopath

by TheConsultingStepladder



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, His Last Vow Spoilers, Series 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheConsultingStepladder/pseuds/TheConsultingStepladder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>One shot based on the fact that I'm concerned John Watson may be more messed up now than he ever was! I might make this a series.....</p></blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The monotonous 'plip'of the leaky pipes gets to him before anything else does. In a second he's on his feet and dashing for the fire door.

He knows exactly where he is, damp basement floor thudding underneath his shoes, the fire door clanging loudly as he barges through. He knows it doesn't matter, they know he's here.

Skidding around the corner, the fluorescent lighting above him flickers three times before he makes it to the end of the corridor and throws himself at the last door. It nearly falls off its hinges with the force.

And there they are.

In the centre of the empty room, they stood. Only the moon streaking through a broken window pane glanced off them.

Both dressed in black, he in a tailored suit and she in a floor length dress, furred shrug across her shoulders.  
They would've made a gorgeous sight. 

If it weren't for the guns.

Staring each other down, neither moved an inch while aiming straight at the other's forehead, their fingers on the triggers.  
They circled slowly, never taking their eyes from the other.

As the light hit her face he could see she was crying, but her face betrayed no emotion.  
They turned again, speaking in low voices so he couldn't hear them.

He moved closer, terrified and hopeless, this wasn't going to end well.

Now the moon shone on the man and it was clear he was distressed; his eyes red and sore, but like her, no expression graced his features.

They continued to speak quietly but he still couldn’t hear them, finally he was right behind them and they stopped moving, but neither turned to look at him.

Simultaneously their arms stiffened and they readied the pistols squarely at each other.

John's voice broke, “Don't. Please, I love you, don't do this.”

He felts the tears before he even knew he was crying. The man swallowed so hard he could hear it and the woman let an almost inaudible sob escape.

Then they spoke in unison, as though they were talking to each other as well as him.  
“I'm sorry.”

The click of one, perhaps both guns together sounded and without another thought he threw himself between them.

His shoulder ripped open, agony searing down his arm.

No way of knowing which of the two had done it, but as he fell he saw both their faces looking down on him in shock, shouting his name desperately before he blacked out.

\-------------

“John, JOHN!”  
Her voice rang in his ears as he sprang from the pillows gasping for air. 

“Oh...G..god...” he croaked hoarsely. Why was his throat sore?

A arm wound round his shoulders and squeezed, “John love, I'm here....I'm here.”  
Turning to look at her, he saw her face was pale and her eyes wet.

“Jesus I'm sorry, what... what happened.”

Mary swallowed thickly and avoided his eyes. “You... screamed. I thought you were hurt.”

She pulled her arm away and moved a shade from his side, to give him space to breathe.

“I'm sorry.” he said heavily, “I'm so sorry.”  
“S'alright.” she quirked a smile, “I was awake anyway.”

As he ran a hand across his face, removing the sleep from his eyes he noticed she held her own hands clasped together and was rubbing one slowly.

Taking a deep breath he asked shakily, “Did I …. did I wake you?”

She didn't answer. 

“Mary...” he spoke sternly.

Slowly he leant over and moved her hands apart. One was red and marked with crescent shapes. Nails and fingers squeezing hard.

An empty laugh followed, “You were holding my hand, and then.... you were holding it down... I tried moving but... you wouldn't...”

He moved forward, the weight of his guilt feeling tangible and threw his arms around her.  
“Oh god I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

He kissed her cheeks in apology, his heart racing.

“I've had worse,” she rubbed his back. “What were you dreaming of anyway?”

“No, nothing. I can't remember now.” he lied.

She shrugged and patted his knee “I just wondered what I was doing that made you so adamant I didn't move..”

The thought crossed his mind before he could stop it.

_“You would've killed him.”_

\-------------

“Sherlock Holmes?”

“Hi, Sherlock, sorry I'm calling you from work.”

“John? What's wrong?”

“No no nothing, I just... wondered if you were still up for dinner tonight. Mary's booked for three just in case and I didn't know if you'd eaten recently so...”

“Ah yes... hold on.. Anderson put that down! No... no of course not! Just put it back for gods sake. Sorry John, I'm in the middle of something. Yes, dinner, that sounds.... fine.”

“Ok, eight o' clock alright for you?”

“I'm nearly done here now, should be fine by then.”

“Good... good.”

“....”

“....”

“What?”

“What do you mean 'what'?”

“ You're hesitating, why did you really call?”

“*sigh*... I just... wanted to check.”

“Reservations?”

“No. I.... You're alright with coming.”

“I just said I was.”

“No _no, I mean_. With both of us.”

“...John... if you mean Mary, I've already made myself quite clear. She saved my....”

“She still shot you Sherlock. I've only just forgiven her myself. You can’t tell me you're not angry.”

“I'm not angry. I understand perfectly why she did what she did. In her situation I can't see myself doing much different, albeit, probably would’ve planned more for that eventuality. I definitively wouldn't have.....”

“Alright alright, I get it. No need to explain.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

“....”

“It's all fine?”

“YES! Now go and get on with, I don't know, treating old men's bunions or whatever it is you do that's so tedious you can't join me.”

“Hah, alright yes, I'll go. Good luck with the case.”

“I don't know why you feel the need to call me and check in on my emotional state before we do something as dull as have dinner.”

“Well, I guess I'm afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

 _“Afraid you might kill her.”_ The thought jumped unbidden into his mind as he hung up.

\-------------

He went home early and he sat. 

Sat staring at the walls of his little home. Counting the patterns on the wallpaper. Noted all the things that needed dusting. Concentrating on his breathing. Trying not to imagine all the ways things could go so wrong. Not thinking about the past, definitely not thinking about how badly things had gone before. Thinking even less about the future.

John wandered back in his mind to the months before. When he had his best friend in Baker Street and his lovely wife at home. He had a good job and an even better one. A baby on the way and a house to call their own.

He had it all.  
When everything was under control. 

And now it seemed life was slowly spiralling away from him.

All that he did know, all that he could know in this instance, as his eyes flicked over to the clock on the wall was that now, it was time for dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

She looked lovely, Sherlock thought.

All sparkles and fur, long neck with a dainty necklace adorning it (a present from John) and smoky, glimmering eyes.

Mary sauntered down the aisle of the restaurant, long black dress flowing around her ankles and shrug dancing softly around her shoulders. Her eyes lit up when she saw him.

If he hadn't been... the way he was, he might even have been drawn to her. Even more so now given what he knew of her past.

_“Was that unusual?”_ He wondered. To ponder the attractiveness of your best friend's wife; a woman who had very nearly killed you a few months prior?

Unusual seemed a moot word in his book compared to some of the atrocities he'd seen and done. He knew it was the same for her.

All the things she must've seen, the emotions she locked away and the memories she'd burned or tried to scrub from her mind. There must be so much blood on her hands, they'd never be clean but she wanted to try.

He'd gotten in her way. Selfish act, yes. Unjustified. Perhaps. But he understood.

Because she didn't want to let go of the doctor, of her new life, her new home. You can only restart your life so many times before the memories of those past catch up with you and fill you with so much hate, anger and misery that you cannot continue to exist.

It was strange that he almost felt empathy. Two years undercover, changing identity monthly. It most likely didn't scratch the surface of her life, but it had been torture.

Perhaps they were both starting to remember who they'd been before, before they took the path that led them to ruin.

A new start for them both.

She smiled broadly at him, leaning over the table to affectionately rub a thumb over his cheek.

“Oh you scrub up lovely don't you?”

His mouth quirked upwards, “And you Mrs Watson. May I ask, where is your husband tonight?”

Laughing she replied, “Got called back in to work when I left. Said he wouldn’t be long. I thought he might have texted you first.”

Sherlock shook his head slowly, “I haven't had any cases for a few weeks.”

“Ah,” she nodded, taking a sip of her water.

He was lying. She probably knew.

And that was the only thing he could find he truly disliked about Mary Morstan.

**She had John.**

\-------------

None of her new dresses fitted. She threw them on the bed exasperated.

It was going to be that same bloody black dress for their third dinner in a row.  
Sighing, she pulled out the garment and hung it on the back of the door.

As she rummaged through the drawers for her tights, past John's socks and boxers, her hand landed on the corner of something flat.

She slid it out from under the clothing, careful to remember where she had found it.

It was an old picture, judging by the blonde still left in John's hair. He was grinning, as Sherlock stood beside him glaring to the left at whoever had clearly told him to smile for the camera.

The most notable thing about it was that Sherlock had his hand on John's shoulder and the doctor was half looking at it as though it were a bizarre growth that has just sprouted from him.

He looked so happy she couldn’t help but giggle.  
She only wished she could've seen them in their prime, before the disappearance, before Moriarty, even before her.

Sherlock was good looking, even whilst sulking.  
If he wasn't so.....whatever he was, she might have considered trying him out before committing herself to the good doctor, she joked inwardly.

In reality she felt a lot for the man, annoyance, respect, empathy, love. 

Gratitude. Always gratitude. 

If any man could keep her secret it was Sherlock. Without reading a single line of her past, he let her move forward, even after what she did to him, to his friend. She regretted what happened severely, but there was no way she could let on.

John had never been quite the same since. She tried to go back to her roots, dampen the guilt and forget any emotional connections. But every time the detective smiled at her, every time John had a nightmare, every time she saw tense lines behind their eyes, she felt like the world was closing in on her.

They'd forgiven her. She repeated it to herself constantly, they forgave me, we need to move on.

We need to move on together.

\-------------

The tall man looked stunning as she entered the restaurant and Mary told him as much when she sat down.

She drank her water and pretended she didn't know John hadn't gone back to work at all. He had most likely, gone for a walk and come back when she wasn’t there.

Sherlock lied in return. More in expression than words. His face said he didn't care that John rarely texted now, though the doctor's wife knew he probably had earlier to check the detective was still aware of their dinner arrangements.   
Not many cases, he said, as if that were the reason John had been absent from his inbox.

Politely she played along.

They ignored the tense moment and made idle chit chat, which was a rarity in Sherlock's case especially so Mary took full advantage. It continued until a slow tap of feet stopped behind them and they both turned to greet John.

He leant in and kissed her on the cheek gently, carefully not smudging her make-up and then he clapped a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and smiled broadly.

All in all they had a pleasant evening.

They ate and laughed and talked into the late hours until they had to wait so long for a cab they simply walked back from the restaurant.  
Mary slung her heels over her shoulder and linked arms with her husband who was talking animately to his friend who was bereft of his jacket, now draped over her arm.

The quiet stroll was broken by the sound of John laughing hysterically so much so he stopped in his tracks.

“What's so funny?” his wife asked confused.

The blonde man was bent double, tears in his eyes and his lanky parter was also chuckling to himself so much he couldn’t reply.

Eventually they came up for air.

“Oh my god sorry love, he just reminded me. Did I ever tell you about the time we visited Buckingham Palace? I must've done.”

“No..” the lady frowned, “You've never mentioned it before.”

“OK you need to hear this, there was a gent whose car backfired you see....”

As he told the story she could barely concentrate as she saw Sherlock's eyes glimmering with the memory of their past case, smiling at the doctor who continued to giggle and stutter as he recalled their adventure.

That was the thing. The one thing that she could say she truly disliked about Sherlock Holmes.

**He had John.**

**Author's Note:**

> One shot based on the fact that I'm concerned John Watson may be more messed up now than he ever was! I might make this a series.....


End file.
